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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


•: 


Where  the  serried  waves  like  chargers  madly  leaping 

to  the  fray. 


THE  LEGEND 


OF 


THE   WHITE  CANOE 


BY 

WILLIAM   TRUMBULL 


WITH    PHOTOGRAVURES    FROM    DESIGNS    BY 

F.  V.  Du  MOND 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27    WEST  TWENTV-THIRD   STREET  24    BEDFORD   STREET,    STRAND 

3%  Juticlurboeker  |)rcss 
1894 


COPYRIGHT,  1893 
BY 

G.  P.    PUTNAM'S   SONS 


Electrotyped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 

c  Tknicfeerbocber  press,  flew  Jijorfe 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


fs 

353 1 


DEDICATED 

TO 

A.    L.  T.  T. 


612826 
Mttnr 


Long  before  the  solitudes  of  western  New  York  were  dis 
turbed  by  the  advent  of  the  white  man,  it  was  the  custom  of 
the  Indian  tribes  to  assemble  occasionally  at  Niagara,  and 
offer  sacrifice  to  the  Spirit  of  the  Falls. 

This  sacrifice  consisted  of  a  white  birch-bark  canoe,  which 
was  sent  over  the  terrible  cliff,  filled  with  ripe  fruits  and 
blooming  flowers,  and  bearing  the  fairest  girl  in  the  tribe  who 
had  just  attained  the  age  of  womanhood. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PROEM             ...  i 

WENONAH             .....  e 

THE  COUNCIL            .                                       .  I^ 

KWASIXD              ......  29 

THE  SACRIFICE          ....  ™ 

EPILOGUE             ......  53 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 
WHERE   THE    SERRIED   WAVES   LIKE    CHARGERS   MADLY  LEAPING  TO   THE 

FRAY, 
FLING  ALOFT  THEIR  SNOWY  CRESTS  AND  TOSS  THEIR  MANES  OF   FLYING 

SPRAY.  .     .     .     Frontispiece 

*  *      *      AS     OFTEN     AS     THEY     LISTENED,     ON     THE     VOICES     OF     THE 
FLOOD   DEEP  WERE   BORNE   THE   SPIRIT'S   MUTTERINGS,    CALLING   FIERCE 

FOR   HUMAN   BLOOD.  ...  2 

AND  THE  MUSIC   OF   HER  LAUGHTER,  WHEN  AMID  THE   JOYOUS  THRONG, 
SHE,    HAILED   QUEEN  BY   ALL   THE   MAIDENS,   LED   WITH   MERRIEST   QUIP 

AND    SONG.  ...  6 

*  *   *   GRAVE  ATTENTION  HOLDS  THE  BAND, 

FOR  THE  MED'CINE-MAN  is  SPEAKING  OF  THE  WANT  THROUGHOUT  THE 

LAND.  ...  12 

*  *      *      TO   YOUR     DREAMING   MEDA,    WHILE    IN   TROUBLED    SLEEP     HE 

LAY, 
CAME   THE    SPIRIT    OF    THE    WATERS,    WREATHED    IN    BILLOWY    CLOUDS 

OF    SPRAY.  ...  1 8 

*  *      *      IN     TONES     OF     MEASURED    CALMNESS,     SELF-REPRESSED,     AND 

STERNLY    BRIEF, 
HE   MADE   KNOWN    HIS   TIDINGS   BITTER      *      *      *  ...  28 

*  *      *      ONE    MORN,     THE    TREACHEROUS    MEDA,     SLAIN     BY     HOSTILE 

UNKNOWN    HAND, 
SLOW   WAS   BORNE   INTO    THE   VILLAGE   BY    THE    YOUNG   BRAVES   OF  THE 

BAND.  36 


viii  ITllustrattons 

PAGE 

*  *      *      DARTING,    BOUNDING    O*ER   THE   TIDE, 

SHOOTING   STRAIGHT   TO   MEET   ITS   FELLOW,   LO  !    A  SECOND  SKIFF"  THEY 

SPIED.  ...  48 

*  *      *      IN    HIS   TENDER,    YEARNING    EYES, 

CLEAR    SHE   READS   THE   PREGNANT   MEANING   OF   THAT  LOVE-WROUGHT 

SACRIFICE.  ...  50 

SWIFT   BY    FRANTIC     STROKE     IMPELLED,    IT    INTERCEPTS    IT     NEAR    THE 

BRINK, 
WHERE    IN    STRONG    LOVE     CLASPED    TOGETHER,     FATHER,    DAUGHTER, 

FADING    SINK.  54 


M 


I. 

PROEM. 

ID  the  rush  of  mighty  waters,  in  the  thundering 

cataract's  roar, 
Where  Niagara's  streaming  rapids  down  in  headlong 

torrent  pour ; 
Where  the  serried  waves  like  chargers  madly  leaping 

to  the  fray, 
Fling  aloft  their  snowy  crests  and  toss  their  manes  of 

flying  spray, 
Rearing,  plunging,   onward  urging — Nature's  glorious 

cavalry  ! 
Where  th'  eternal  sweep  of  waters  like  the  unending 

surge  of  time, 
Pulsing,  throbs   in  rhythmic  measure    to    a   wondrous 

strain  sublime  : 
Dwells,  so  ancient   legends  say,  the  mighty  Spirit  of 

the  Falls, 
Who    from    out    the  tumult,   hoarsely,  for  unbounded 

homage  calls. 


-*     *     *     As  often  as  they  listened,  on  the  voices  of  the 

flood, 
Deep,  were  borne  the  Spirit's  mutter  ings,  calling  fierce 

for  human  blood. 


Here  the  children  of  the   forest,   spellbound    by  that 

deafening  roar, 
Stopped  to  gaze  with  listening  wonder,  in  the  simpler 

days  of  yore  ; 
Awe-struck,  gazed  in   silent   worship,   well   beseeming 

Nature's  child, 
As  in  chase  they  roamed  the  plain,  or  tracked  in  war 

the  pathless  wild  : 
And  as  often    as    they   listened,  on  the  voices  of  the 

flood 
Deep  were  borne  the  Spirit's  mutterings,  calling  fierce 

for  human  blood  ; 

Ay,  and  sacrifice  more   cruel   in   that  cry  they  under 
stood  : 
Gift  of  Nature's  choicest    treasure,    peerless    budding 

womanhood  ! 


II. 

WENONAH. 

T^AIREST  of  the  laughing  daughters  by  blue  Sene 
ca's  rippling  tide, 
Was  the  Indian  maid,  Wenonah,  sturdy  Kwasind's  joy 

and  pride : 
Eyes  of  laughter,    like   the    sunshine    dancing   in   her 

native  lake, 
O'er  whose  depths,  anon,   fleet  shadows  chasing    cast 

their  trailing  wake ; 
Lips    of    tempting   ruddy    hue    like    mountain    berries 

gleaming  fair ; 

Raven  locks,  whose  glossy  lustre  shone  like  dark-stem 
med  maidenhair ; 
Whilst  rich  mantling  color  tinged  an  olive  cheek,  whose 

crimson  flush 
Vied  with  flaming  woodland  leaves  when  touched  with 

Autumn's  scarlet  blush. 


She,  hailed  queen  by  all  the  maidens,  led  with  merriest 
quip  and  song. 


And  the  music  of  her  laughter,  when  amid  the  joyous 

throng, 
She,  hailed  Queen  by  all  the  maidens,  led  with  merriest 

quip  and  song, 
Fell  in   sweetest  rippling  cadence,  sounding  thro'  the 

leafy  way 
Like   the   purl  of  hidden  brooklet  murmuring  soft  in 

distant  play ; 
As  in  freest  fancy  roving,  far  removed  from  cares  or 

strife, 
With    fresh    eager    zest    exulting  in  youth's  bounding 

sense    of   life, 
Bright    she    moved,   a  winsome    picture,     framed    by 

Nature's  matchless  art 
In  all  scenes  of   joy  and    beauty  royally  to  bear  her 

part. 


Yet    to    scenes    of    mirth    not     solely  was    her  sunny 

presence  lent ; 

Truer  was  her  simple  nature,  to  a  nobler  purpose  bent : 
Only  child  of  widow'd  father,  hers  the  sacred  heritage, 
With  the  charm  of  winning  girlhood,  to  make  bright 

his  lonely  age. 
What   tho'   ardently,    nay  fiercely,    for  her  smiles   the 

young  braves  strove 
In  all  feats  of  savage  daring — none  as  yet  might  claim 

her  love ; 
She,  with  roguish,   artless  spirit,   laughing  in  her  gay 

caprice, 
Found  in  loving,  filial  duty  surer  joys  of  heart-whole 

peace. 


Just  as  when  some  sturdy  giant  of  the  forest,  bending 

low, 
Bows  before   the   axe  and  toppling  falls  with  mighty 

crashing  blow, 
Clinging  tendrils,  newly  springing  round  the  shattered 

trunk  are  seen 
Swift  to  hide  its  prostrate  ruin  'neath  a  veil  of  living 

green, 
Guarding,    shielding,    closely    nestling    to    their    riven 

parent    stock, 
Like  mute  sentient    creatures  fearful  of  rude  gaze  or 

heedless    mock  : 
So  the  maid  her  lonely  father  tended  with  fond,  jealous 

pride, 
Steadfast,  faithful  to  her  trust,  where  none  might  woo 

her    from    his   side. 


*     *     *     Grave  attention  holds  the  band. 


III. 

THE    COUNCIL. 

y^^ATHERED  is   the  warriors'  council.     Thro' the 

^— ~        shadows  of  the  night, 

Darkly   gleams   each    dusky    figure  in   the   camp-fire's 

fitful   light. 
Slowly    round    the    silent    circle    moves   the   red-pipe's 

gleaming  bowl, 
Thro'  whose  clouds  each    wreath'd    sage,   peering  the 

dark  future  to  unroll, 
Draws  a  drowsy,  sweet  contentment,   for  the  moment, 

o'er  his  soul. 
Now,  the    brooding  hush   is  broken  ;    grave   attention 

holds    the   band, 

For  the  Med'cine-man  is  speaking  of  the  want  through 
out  the  land; 
Slow,   in   subtle   craft,   contrasting  with   the  wealth    of 

happier  days 
Present  dearth  of   fish   and   venison,  withering   blight 

upon   their  maize. 

13 


Well  he  speaks!     His  halting-  manner  but  betrays  the 

deeper  art 
Of   his    cunning   soul    vindictive ;   which   full    oft    had 

conned  this  part, 
Since  that   day   when   in   dim   forest    glade   Wenonah 

spurned  his  quest, 
And  with  flaming  scorn  repelled  the  love  his  suppliant 

words  confessed. 
Little  recked  the  fearless  maiden  in  that  lonely,  fateful 

hour, 
Dark  appeal,  mute,  threatening  gesture,  hints  of  baleful 

fetich  power ; 
For  while   untaught  reason   wavered,    blindly  groping 

toward  the  light, 
Woman's  faultless  intuition  read  his  lying  heart  aright ! 


"Senecas  !    Twice  the  rolling  Autumn,  with  deep-laden 

malice  fraught, 
Years  of  blight  and  wasting  sickness   to  your  golden 

maize  hath  brought. 
Yet  again  the  dread  plague  threatens  !     Speak,  deluded, 

hapless   race, 
Will  ye,    reckless,    longer  trust    th'   uncertain  product 

of    the    chase  ? 
Hunted,  driven,  the  startled  red  deer,  fleeing,  vanish 

from  your  sight ! 
Hark,  the  cry  of  fenland  wild-geese,  parting  on  their 

southward  flight ! 
E'en  your  lake  trout,   lurking  wary,  yield  but  scanty 

livelihood- 
Will  ye  see  your  children  starving  ?     Answer,  Senecas  ! 

Is  it  good  ? 


Came  the  Spirit  of  the    Waters,   wreathed  in   billowy 
clouds  of  spray. 


"Listen!    To  your  dreaming  Meda,  while  in  troubled 

sleep  he  lay, 
Came  the   Spirit  of   the  Waters,   wreathed  in  billowy 

clouds  of  spray  :— 
'  Wherefore   do    My   children   shun    Me  ?     Where   the 

grateful  offering  rare 
Of  the  maid  and  first-fruits  choicest,  which  they  once 

were  wont  to  bear  ? 
Has  prosperity   thus   turned    them    from   the   faith    of 

simpler  days  ? 
Let  them  heed,  lest  FAMINE  seal  My  warning  blight 

upon  their  maize  ! ' 
So  He  spake,  with   muttered  thunderings,  leaving  me 

as  one  for  dead. 
Need  I  counsel  ?     Heed  the  warning  !     Yet  delay  not ! 

— I  have  said." 


Ceased  the  speaker,  'mid  a  silence,  chill,  foreboding  as 

the  grave, 

Save  where  some  sage,  nodding  grayhead  growl  of  half- 
conviction  gave, 
As  at  grim  want's  threatening  horror,  fear,  by  ghastly 

memories  fed, 
Woke  to  flame  the  smouldering  embers  of  a  cruel  faith 

nigh  dead ; 
Or  perchance,  some  young  brave,  chafing  sore  in  hot, 

rebellious  mood, 
With  the  first  warm  flush  of  manhood  'gainst  a  bygone 

creed  of  blood, 
Carried  past  his  wiser  fellows,  borne  by  love's  impetuous 

stream, 
Muttered  curse  both  deep  and  savage  on  the   Meda's 

boding  dream  ! 


But  all  eyes   were    fixed    on    Kwasind,    Strong   Man, 

warrior  proved  and  true, 
Whose  brave  heart,  where  others  faltered,  never  fear 

nor  weakness  knew  ; 
Hero  of  a  thousand  conflicts,   scarred  in  visage,  proud 

of  mien, 

Foremost  ever  in  rude  battle,  chase,  or  stirring  council- 
scene  : 
And    their  eyes    were    fixed    upon    him    with   a  deep, 

expectant  gaze, 
Watching    for    some     answering     signal    which    their 

sinking  hearts  might  raise  ; 
Hope    and   terror  strangely   blended    in    that    wistful, 

furtive  stare, 
Not    unmixed  with    curious  pity    for  a   father's   mute 

despair ! 


Long  they  sat,  in  silence  waiting.      Neither  word,  nor 

sign,  nor  glance 
From  the  Sachem   came  in  answer  to  their  wondering 

look  askance. 
— Ah !   the    nameless,   unseen   terror  of  that  shadowy 

Spirit-land, 
With  its  spectral  shapes  and  phantoms, — who  its  power 

can  understand  ? 
Now,  in  sudden  wrath  he  starts  at  thought  of  pity  from 

the  rest, 
Crushes   down    the   welling   tumult    surging    thro'   his 

anguished  breast, 
Cloaks  'neath  stoic,  outward  calm  the  grief  he  struggles 

to  control— 
Lest   perchance  he  may  betray  the  finer  feelings  of  his 

soul ! 


There  he  sits,  all  wrapped  in  silence,  strangely  mute, 

impassive  grown, 
Drawn  each  stern  and  rigid  feature  like  carved  lines  of 

chiselled  stone  ; 
Iron    will    and    haughty    spirit    bravely    answering    to 

repress 
Quivering   lip  and    trembling    eyelid, — signals    of  his 

deep   distress. 
See !  he  meets  their  searching  glance  with  head  erect 

and  flashing  mien  ; 
Slowly  gazes  round  the  assembly  with  unflinching  air 

serene  : 
Victor  in  th'  unnatural  conflict ;  love  and  nature,  both 

defied ; 
Slave    to    coward    superstition ;    thrall    of    idle   savage 

pride  ! 


He  made  known  his  tidings  bitter     * 


*     * 


• 


IV. 


KWASIND. 

IV  TOR  when,    once  the  conclave  over,  striding  back 

*•  ^         in  anger  wild 

To    the    hut,    where   all    unconscious  of  her   fate,   his 

darling  child 
Rose  to  greet  his  late  home-coming, — did  his  flood  of 

grief  long-pent, 
In  a  burst  of  manlier  feeling  find,  e'en   then,  its  fitting 

vent : 
But  in  tones  of  measured  calmness,  self-repressed,  and 

sternly  brief, 
He  made    known    his    tidings    bitter    to    her   gaze    of 

wondering  grief ; 
Nay,  to  that  grim  ordeal,   harshly,  bade  her  nerve  her 

trembling  frame, 
For  the   welfare  of   her   people,  for  the  honor  of  his 

name ! 


Yet,  in  lonely  midnight  vigil,  when  beneath  the  unwonted 

strain, 
Baffled  nature  rose  rebellious,  throbbing  fierce  in  secret 

pain, 
Vowed  he  threat  of  direst  vengeance,  breathing  forth 

an  ominous  hiss 
'Gainst   the    doting,    idle    dreamer: — "Curse    him,   he 

shall  die   for  this  ! " 
Or  as  tenderer  feelings,  rushing  with  tumultuous  ebb 

and  roll, 
Stirred  to  ruth  the  deep  recesses  of  his  inmost  troubled 

soul, 
Pity  for  her  youth  and  beauty,  doomed  thus  soon  to 

fade  and  die, 
Found  expression  mute  yet  touching,  in  a  long-drawn 

secret  sigh. 


Or  he  dwelt  on  her  obedience,  on  her  silent  fortitude, 
Bowing  to  his  will  submissive,  'neath  a  blow  so  harsh 

and  rude  : 
And   it   called   to    mind  her   mother,  gentle    slave    of 

days  long  fled, 
Slain,  alas !  in  hostile  foray  ere  her  noon  of  life  had 

sped. 
How  might  she  have  met  this  trial  ? — What  her  thought 

of  him,  who  must 
In  the  pride  of  false   endurance,  thus  betray  a  father's 

trust  ? 
Till  proud  spirit,  bowed  in  anguish,  brooding  thro'  the 

silent  night, 
Staggered    'neath    the    strong    temptation    of   a  swift, 

inglorious  flight. 


33 


Then,  a  sterner  mood  returning-,  pride  resumed  its 
wonted  sway  ; 

Bade  him  heed  the  tribe's  opinion  ;  pictured  what  his 
braves  might  say : 

While  he  strove,  with  specious  reasoning,  which  he  well 
knew  for  a  lie, 

To  assuage  the  qualms  of  conscience — outraged  nature's 
stifled  cry  ! 

Her  obedience  ? — but  th'  expression  of  a  flattered  vanity 

At  the  tribute  of  the  council's  silent  unanimity  ! 

Or  if  here,  too,  justice  triumphed,  muttered  with  con 
temptuous  thought : 

"  After  all,  she  's  but  a  woman  !" — and  in  this  a  respite 
sought. 


35 


Slow  was  borne  into  the  village  by  the  young  braves 

of  the  band, 


He) 


So  the  days  dragged  slowly  onward,  days  of  strife  and 

varying  mood, 
As  he  watched  her  steadfast  bearing  from  his  gloomy 

solitude : 
And  one  morn,  the  treacherous  Meda,  slain  by  hostile, 

unknown  hand, 
Slow  was  borne  into  the  village  by  the  young  braves  of 

the  band. 
None    mistrusted    sullen    Kwasind,    when    the   funeral 

throng  drew  nigh, 
Or,  at  least,  none  cared  to  question  with  that  scowling 

warrior  by. 
But  th'  event  was  soon  forgotten  'mid  the  press  of  other 

calls, 
And  the  stir  of  preparation  for  their  long  march  to  the 

Falls. 


37 


C 


V. 
THE  SACRIFICE. 

IOME,  at  length,  the  fatal  evening — for  such  pur 
pose,  all  too  soon  ! 
—On  a  scene  of  matchless  glory  slow  uprose  the  harvest 

moon  : 
Crested  wave  and  shimmering  islet,  bathed  in  flood  of 

golden  light, 
Caught  and  threw  its  tremulous  radiance  far  adown  the 

wind-kissed  night ; 
Soft  the  mellow  moonbeams  glinting  thro'  the  leaves 

on  isle  and  shore, 
Spread  beneath,  their  quivering  fretwork,  interlaced  with 

shadows  o'er  ; 
Now,  the  full  orb's  splendor  shining,  woke  to  brilliant 

glistening  play 
Myriad  hues  of  emerald  richness,  showers  of  sparkling 

diamond  spray. 


39 


On  the  cliffs  beyond  the  cataract,  ranged  like  sentinels 

on  high, 
Giant  trees  stood  darkly  shadowed,  spectre-like  against 

the  sky; 
Far  beneath,  the  seething  river,    wrapped    in  deepest 

midnight  gloom, 
Flowed  with  cruel,  swirling  torrent  thro'  the  gorge — a 

fitting  tomb  ! 
While,    like    ponderous    portals    clanging  'twixt   these 

scenes  of  death  and  life, 
Boomed    the   Falls,   their  bellowing  echoes  telling  of 

a  ceaseless  strife  ; 
Riven,  torn  in  wildest  fury,  lashed  to  foam  and  clouds 

of  spray, 

Like    some    clamorous     monster   raging    for    its    long- 
expected  prey. 


From  the  shore,  in  jarring  discord  with  the  spirit  of  the 

hour, 
Shouts    of    revelry    invaded    its    sublime,    mysterious 

power  : 
Man,  the  slave  of  passions  rude,  in  superstition's  yoke 

enthralled, 
Marred  the  face    divine    of    Nature,  by  her  grandeur 

unappalled. 
— There    they    danced    in    wild    carousal,    thro'    that 

glorious  moonlit  night, 
Love  and  friendship  all  forgotten,  in  their  orgies'  fierce 

delight ; 
Thinking  thus,  poor  simple  children,  best    the    dread 

wrath  to  assuage 
Of  that  Spirit  dark,  whose  roaring  told  of  boundless, 

sullen  rage. 


43 


Hark !   a   distant    shout.       Swift    following,    comes    a 

momentary   hush. 
Then,  their  ill-timed  revels  quitting,  to  the  river's  bank 

they  rush : 
Up  the  stream  all  eyes  are  straining,  toward  yon  faintest 

speck  of  white, 
Where  the  frail  birch  onward  dancing,  flashes  in  the 

moon's  pale  light ; 
Large,  now  larger,  grows  the  object ;  till  at  length  the 

kneelino-  form 

O 

Of  a  maid  is  seen,  her  tresses  blowing  wildly  in  the 
storm  ; 

Clasped  her  hands,  her  lips  half-parted,  staring  down 
the  angry  stream 

As  if  spellbound  by  the  horror  of  some  hideous  night 
mare  dream  ! 


45 


At    that    sight,   their    spell    is    broken.      Cheer   rever 
berates   on  cheer, 

Till  the  answering  banks  re-echo  like  a  scoffing,  mocking 
jeer. 

Louder    still    their    cries    redouble,    as    the    skiff   with 
frightful  lunge 

Leaps  in  where  the  steadier  current  gathers  for  its  final 
plunge. 

Passed  the  head  of  low-crowned  Iris  !     Luna  gleams  !— 
But  what  is  this  ? 

Why  this  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  thunder  of  th' 
abyss  ? 

Why  this  sudden  pause  from  shouting,  and  that  swift- 
averted  gaze 

To  yon  point  where,  circling,  eddying  past  the  shore, 
the  current  plays  ? 


47 


Shooting  straight  to  meet  his  fellow,  lo  /  a  second  skiff 

they  spied.  • 


Leaping  from  the  mainland  outward,  darting,  bounding 

o'er  the  tide, 
Shooting    straight    to    meet    its    fellow, — lo  !   a   second 

skiff  they  spied. 
Mark  the  dripping  blade  flash  brightly,  scattering  drops 

of  silver  light, 
As  the    shallop    plunges,    lurches,    forward    urged    by 

desperate  might ! 
See  !  it  nears  ;  they  strike  ! — Defiant,  stands  a  swaying, 

stalwart  form ; 
Poises  high  the  useless  paddle;  hurls  it  at  the  ravening 

storm  ! 
While  an  arm  protecting,  shielding,  round  the  startled 

maid  is  flung  :— 
"'T  is  her  father  !  Kwasind  !  Kwasind  ! "  bursts  in  frenzy 

from  the  throng. 


49 


In  his  tender,  yearning  eyes, 
Clear  she  reads   the  pregnant   meaning  of  that   love- 
wrought  sacrifice. 


Ay  ;  't   was   Kwasind !      Love,   triumphant   over  every 

fear  and  doubt, 
Love  had  won  the  final  victory,  putting  stubborn  pride 

to  rout. 
By  that   one   brief   glance    at    meeting,   in    his    tender 

yearning  eyes, 

Clear  she  reads  the    pregnant  meaning    of   that    love- 
wrought  sacrifice  :— 

Not  forgotten,  not  forsaken,  in  that  lonely,  bitter  hour! 
Then,   tho'   certain  death  await  her,   answering  to  his 

love's  strong  power 
Leaps  the  light  of  new-born  gladness  in  her  eyes  !— 

With  quickened  breath, 
Clasped  as  one,  they  pass  the   portal  to  the   shadowy 

realm  of  death. 


VI. 


EPILOGUE. 

AND   in   after  years,   at   nightfall — still  the  Indian 
legends    say — 
When  each  swift  revolving  Autumn  brings  again  that 

fatal  day, 
From   Niagara's  brow,  a  shallop  thro'  the  dusk  is  seen 

to  glide, 
Stemming  with  unwavering  course  the  mighty  flood's 

on-rushing  tide. ; 
Till,  a  jutting  headland  reached,   it  swerves,  and  nears 

the  northern  strand, 
Where  a  slight  form,  dimly  shadowed,  on  the  bank  is 

said  to  stand : 
There,  its  strange  freight  once  embarked,  it  veers,  and 

downward  thro'  the  night 
Bears  the  spectral,  kneeling  figure  of  a  maiden  robed 

in    white. 


53 


Where  in  strong  love  clasped  together,  father,  daughter, 
fading  sink. 


And    as    often    as    the    phantom    nears    the    head    of 

Luna's    shores, 
From  the  bank,  another  shallop  leaps  to  meet  its  gliding 

course ; 
Swift  by  frantic  stroke  impelled,  it  intercepts  it  near  the 

brink, 
Where  in  strong  love  clasped  together,  father,  daughter, 

fading  sink  : 
And  as  surely  as  they  vanish,  louder  roars    the   Spirit 

gray ; 
Higher  yet,  like  incense  rising,  waft  the  rolling  clouds 

of  spray ; 
Whilst  the  moon,  her  pale  face  veiling  high  in  Autumn's 

cloud-flecked  skies, 
Mourns  the  unending  expiation  of  that  cruel  sacrifice. 


55 


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